


sometimes, not flirting works, too

by thompsborn



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Amazing Spider-Man (Movies - Webb)
Genre: M/M, Short n sweet, harry is too tired to be cocky and shit, instead he has to help a dumb billionaire, pet store au, peter just wants to buy cat toys for may's new kitten, this is mostly tasm w a hint of mcu in terms of peter working at SI and knowing tony
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:34:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24314347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thompsborn/pseuds/thompsborn
Summary: “I don’t—” Harry stops and lets out a rough sigh, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I’ve been in back to back meetings all fucking day and my brain is not processing words right now, okay? All I know is I’m suddenly in charge of a fucking dog the size of a fuckingcarand I’ve never had a dog before and I don’t know—”“Woah, okay, just—” the guy holds up his hands, Harry’s phone still clutched between nimble fingers. “It’s not—it isn’t rocket science, okay? It’s a dog. You’ll be fine.”Harry huffs. “I’d do better if itwasrocket science. I actuallyknowrocket science.”
Relationships: Harry Osborn/Peter Parker
Comments: 10
Kudos: 143





	sometimes, not flirting works, too

**Author's Note:**

> this is a fill for the trope **pet store** !! parksborn deserves more content and i will do what i can to provide it
> 
> also this is based mostly in the canon of TASM but with a bit of MCU mixed in, in terms of peter working at stark industries and knowing tony, but that's not really important tbh

Harry has no idea what he’s doing.

In reality, it would be pretty easy to figure it out. He could pull out his phone and do a quick Google search, or even just wave over an employee and ask for their input, but he’s kind of—definitely, in literally every single way possible—a horribly stubborn person at heart, and he’s pretty sure that he can figure this out on his own. Which is why he’s standing in the middle of a pet store in downtown Manhattan, wearing one of his nicer suits because he had like twelve important meetings today, sunglasses resting on the tip of his nose, a light breeze away from falling off completely, and staring, rather helplessly, at the wide assortment of dog food in front of him.

He’s never had a dog. He’s pretty sure he’s only ever pet a dog, like, three or four times in his life, total, and all of those times can be tied back to the few instances in his life that he went walking in the park. Still, despite his lack of experience with taking care of a canine, that doesn’t change the fact that there is a large Neapolitan Mastiff sitting in his penthouse right now, probably shitting on his carpet and tearing up his couch. And Harry has to feed her, take care of her, while Felicia is recovering in the hospital from a, thankfully non fatal, car accident. He didn’t even know that she had a fucking dog, let alone a giant one.

And, apparently, she doesn’t have anyone else to take care of the damn dog, either.

So. Here he is.

“Christ,” Harry breathes, bringing up a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose as he lets out a haggard sort of sigh. It’s odd, really, how old he feels when he’s only three months away from turning twenty three.

According to the—rather extensive—list that Felicia texted him, the dog—Mandy, that’s her name, and he should probably actually use it—has a few allergies that result in being sensitive to certain kinds of food, and Harry, who honestly only skimmed the message on the drive here, isn’t sure what food is good for Mandy, and what food would agitate her allergies. Or kill her. He doesn’t want to kill her.

Would getting the wrong food kill her?

He may be a genius in a lot of ways, but animals? Pets? He doesn’t know. He’s hopeless.

“Hey, uh—are you—are you okay, man?”

It must show on his face, just the extent of hopeless that he is, that he feels, while staring at the expanse of dog foods in front of him, because the stranger that just spoke is looking at him in mild concern when Harry glances over. The guys brows are furrowed together, the ends of his lips tugged down, just slightly, and when Harry only blinks at him, his frown only seems to deepen.

“Uh…” the guy trails off, looks over his shoulder and then back at Harry. “Hello?”

Harry blinks again, then holds out his phone, the text from Felicia already on the screen. “Help me.”

The guy fumbles with the phone, eyes going wide. “Wh—What?”

“I have—” Harry shakes his head. “I have no fucking clue what I’m supposed to get. Help me.”

“I’m… not an employee here, dude,” the guy tells Harry slowly, brows shooting up to his hairline, yet he still brings the phone up to his face and reads over the text quickly. Once he’s apparently read it all, he looks back to Harry incredulously. “This is, like, very straight forward. What’s confusing about it?”

Harry gestures at the device weakly and says, “I didn’t… really… read it, actually.”

The guy snorts. “Well, there’s your first problem. Maybe try reading the instructions someone sent you about taking care of their dog, and then ask for help if you still need it.”

“I don’t—” Harry stops and lets out a rough sigh, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I’ve been in back to back meetings all fucking day and my brain is not processing words right now, okay? All I know is I’m suddenly in charge of a fucking dog the size of a fucking _car_ and I’ve never had a dog before and I don’t know—”

“Woah, okay, just—” the guy holds up his hands, Harry’s phone still clutched between nimble fingers. “It’s not—it isn’t rocket science, okay? It’s a dog. You’ll be fine.”

Harry huffs. “I’d do better if it _was_ rocket science. I actually _know_ rocket science.”

The guy lets out a startled kind of half laugh at that, then looks away, gnaws on his lower lip and checks his watch and lets out a sigh of his own. “Alright,” he says, almost reluctant but offering a friendly sort of smile anyway. “So, I’m—I’m Peter, and I’m an idiot, and that’s why I’m agreeing to help you, even though I probably shouldn’t and May is definitely gonna be pissed that I’m late for dinner. But, you’re clearly, like, a light breeze away from a break down, so I’m just—the food? It’s literally right here.” The guy—Peter—reaches forward, grabs one of the bags on the shelf and shakes it slightly for emphasis. “It says in the text that the dog eats this, so just stick with that, don’t change up the brand or anything like that, unless you wanna risk that poor pup getting sick and ruining your nice business shoes.”

Harry, without really meaning to, looks down at his shoes. They’re his least favorite pair, actually, not at all comfortable, and he finds himself shrugging a bit. “I wouldn’t miss ‘em.”

Peter seems baffled by that. “Those cost more than my—”

He stops, sucks in a sharp breath, and shakes his head.

“You know what? Nevermind. Basically, take this—” Peter shakes the bag again, “—and feed the dog twice a day. It doesn’t say how much in the text, so probably text back and ask for a specific amount, but it does say to always keep a water bowl out and at least half full, so there’s that. Do you have dishes?”

“Uh.” Harry blinks. “Like, plates? I have plates.”

Peter closes his eyes and lets out a slow breath. “Are you being this dumb on purpose?”

“I run a multibillion dollar company,” Harry says, frowning. “I’m not dumb.”

“Smart people can be idiots,” Peter tells him, squinting open his eyes to give Harry an odd sort of look. “I mean, I’m a certified genius, but I also forgot that there’s a step leading out the door of my apartment building and almost broke my nose this morning. We all have flaws, Richie Rich.”

“My name is Harry.”

The way that Peter cocks his head slightly to the side reminds Harry of the damn dog waiting for him at home. “Alright, Harry. I mean pet dishes. Like, food bowl, water bowl—shit to actually give the dog food and water, y’know? Not plates.”

“Oh.” Harry looks over his shoulder, like the answer is, somehow, behind him. “Uh. No, I don’t.”

Peter shakes his head. “Well, get those, then. Since you’re just dog sitting, I’m gonna guess that you don’t need anything else, but text your friend back and make sure. And don’t kill the dog.”

“Wh—” Harry scoffs. “I’m not gonna kill the dog!”

“Dude, you couldn’t even be bothered to read the very easy to follow text telling you what food to get,” Peter tells him, clearly unconvinced. “I’m sure you have every intention of taking care of the dog, but I don’t exactly have a lot of faith in you following through with it. Matter of fact—” he looks down at Harry’s phone, taps at the screen with his tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth, and, a moment later, presses it into Harry’s hands. “That’s my number. If you think you might kill the dog, just—call me. I’m not letting the rich dude I met in a pet store become a puppy murderer, alright?”

Harry looks down at his phone, eyes wide. “Wh—You just gave me your number?”

Peter frowns. “Yeah, that’s what I just said.”

“But…” Harry trails off, confused. “I didn’t even flirt with you.”

This shocks a laugh out of Peter’s chest, a bit too loud and sudden, making Harry jump a bit in surprise. “Don’t flatter yourself, man,” Peter says, through a chuckle. “I’m literally just worried about the dog’s health and well being. But… you don’t look like you’re older than me. Kinda cute, actually. So, don’t kill the dog and maybe shoot me a text and we can see what happens, yeah?”

It’s not often that Harry is rendered speechless—never, really, because he’s Harry fucking Osborn and he always has shit to say, mostly to members of the board and the people who work for him—but when he opens his mouth to respond, nothing comes out. Dumbly—because, really, he is more than capable of being dumb, despite what he said before—he point at himself and says, “Twenty two.”

Peter grins, lopsided and boyish and cute. “Same,” he replies.

Harry drops his hand back to his side. “Cool.”

“Cool.” Peter takes a step back, tosses a thumb over his shoulder and tells him, “I actually came here to get a few toys for my aunt’s new kitten, and I’m already running late for dinner, so I gotta go.”

“Yeah. Okay.” Harry clenches his jaw and offers, “I won’t kill the dog.”

Peter laughs. “I hope so. See you around, Osborn.”

Harry parts his lips and freezes, but before he can think of a comprehensive reply, Peter trots around the corner, looking all too proud of himself, and disappears. Harry stares after him for a moment, wide eyed and stunned, and then brings up his phone, opening texts and selecting the new contact in his phone, scans over the name Peter Parker and types a simple, _You’re an asshole for not saying that you know who I am._

About twenty minutes later, Peter texts back, _Technically, I should have punched you._

_What the fuck? Why?_

Peter sends of selfie in response. It’s simple, cute, and—and he’s wearing a Stark Industries hoodie. Harry, sitting in the back of his car while his driver takes him back to his penthouse, stares down at the image with a dropped jaw. Another text, this one saying, _Tony says I need to block your number, but he doesn’t understand how genuinely worried about that dog that I am._

Even though it is probably—definitely, actually, because SI is literally Oscorp’s biggest rival that Harry has been working his ass off to catch up with since inheriting the company—a bad idea, Harry still texts back. It’s a picture of Mandy and all her Mastiff glory, looking into the camera and slobbering all over Harry’s expensive couch. _Mandy says she’ll be sad if you block my number._

 _Well, we can’t have that,_ Peter replies. _Guess Tony will just have to deal with it, huh?_

Harry can’t really help it when he grins.

**Author's Note:**

> hi!! so my frens and i made a parksborn server if anyone wants to join!! it's an open server but we are limiting it to people who are 16 or older !! let me know if u wanna join by either sending me an ask or messaging me on tumblr @ spidey-lad !!


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